


the smoke that roams looking for a home

by timber (calculus)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slice of Life, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculus/pseuds/timber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seoul is a big enough city as it is. Sometimes, it takes a while before you finally meet someone for the first time.</p>
<p>Wherein Yifan is a CEO with no direction, and Yixing is just a line chef at a restaurant. Then, it rains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the smoke that roams looking for a home

**one.**

The alarm clock rings shrill and incessant, but Yifan barely breaks in his slow breathing, too lost in his dream world to pay any mind. The loud slam of his bedroom door opening, though, and the furious steps of his PA walking in puts a sizeable dent in his sleep concentration. He furrows his brows, eyes still shut, and snuggles further under his blankets. His spine shivers a little, his seldom-minded sixth sense trying to warn him, but Yifan rolls onto his back, squashing away the tremors.

“Wu Yifan, you have exactly ten seconds to get up from that bed before I toss you and your mattress out your bedroom window,” Do Kyungsoo says calmly, not bothering to raise his voice or add any sort of nuance to his tone beyond the certainty of following through on his threat.

There’s a moment of pause in the air, interrupted only by the faint noises of beeping cars and traffic sounds, before Yifan shoots straight up from his bed, eyes peeled wide open and frantically looking around. Kyungsoo hides a smile and unfolds his arms from the overbearing position they’d been in.

“Clock’s ticking,” he says, tapping at his watch, and Yifan snaps his eyes to Kyungsoo’s passive face, unseeing before the context finally sinks in.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses and scrambles out of bed, almost slipping on his bedsheets and onto the wood floor. “What time is it? _Shit!_ ” 

“I’ll say. This is the last time I let you sleep in—what I get for trying to be nice for once,” mutters Kyungsoo, rubbing his temples. Yifan hurries into the bathroom, flinging off his shirt and boxers, uncaring of his singular audience, and jumps into the shower without aplomb. He hops around a little at the first spray of ice cold water and clutches at his arms, shrinking back into one of the far corners of his shower stall until the water reaches the hot temperature he wanted.

“What time is it, Kyungsoo, please!” Yifan asks again, over the roar of his showerhead. He furiously scrubs at his body, squeezing out a gigantic glob of overly-expensive shampoo and goes to town on his hair, trying to clean himself in the least amount of time possible.

“Almost 8:30,” Kyungsoo sings aloud from his bedroom, perched on his mattress imperiously. Yifan squints at him through his wet shower stall door, blinking one eye open and close at a time to keep the soapy shampoo from running into his eyes.

“Why are you so relaxed?” he shouts through the glass, running water almost drowning his voice out. Kyungsoo manages to hear, through some miracle—probably some Satanic magic—and shrugs leisurely, spreading his arms out.

“If I don’t maintain a calm and steady heart rate right now, I may actually end up murdering you out of pure frustration,” he replies succinctly.

Yifan’s too busy gargling his mouthwash and rinsing the shampoo out of his hair to hear.

-

Yixing drew the short end of the stick this month, so supply duty is on him. Their restaurant manager usually does the bulk ordering for most ingredients, but given Joonmyeon’s recent departure from the position to go back to school full-time for his PhD and their overall tight staff, the past few months have been rather touch-and-go on the supplies front (and everything else, to be honest).

He sets his alarm for 6 AM, an hour earlier than his regular wake-up time, cutting back his sleep time to a measly four hours instead of a more generous five on a regular day, so that he can go to the sijang first thing in the mornings before heading into the restaurant to help with prep-work.

(He’s rather thankful their restaurant isn’t all that big or too popular, hidden away as it is off the main road, on the one of the side alleys, despite Henry’s continuous blustering over their small patronship; it means the amount of ingredients Yixing has to buy on a regular day is limited to only how many customers they’ll predict to have that day. It also means that he doesn’t have to strain his back as much to carry back all the ingredients to the restaurant—his back has gone through enough punishment to last him a lifetime at this point, no need to add more stress to it.)

This particular morning, Yixing awakens well before the alarm clock has a chance to ring, his body still a little too keyed up from yesterday’s late-night closing. A rather large group of ten had hit their place only an hour before their regular closing time, and they had to pull two times their regular weight to get food to the customers and still close down at a reasonable time.

Yixing sits at his kitchen table for thirty minutes, dressed in a thick cardigan and supersized pajama bottoms, staring blankly into his cup of coffee as it cools without him noticing until he takes a sip from it and makes a face at the taste. He chases away the bitterness with a couple bites of similarly-cold toast, promising his whining stomach that he’ll feed it something nice at the market, and changes into a pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt and heads out for the bus to Myeongdong.

-

Yifan squeezes into the cab, folding himself as small as possible, drawing in his giant knees so that Kyungsoo can slide in after him and not feel like they’ve been stuck in a pressure tank. Kyungsoo slams the door shut after he’s safely seated, and the cab peels away from the curb, seamlessly entering back into the stream of cars on the road.

“Take us to the Long Star building, please,” Yifan says to their cabbie, aware of the expression on Kyungsoo’s face. He reflexively curls into himself, clutching at his slacks before forcing his hands to unclench so he doesn’t wrinkle his pants.

“You’re so lucky I planned this meeting for 10 AM in anticipation of your oversleeping,” Kyungsoo mutters darkly, taking out the notes for the shareholders’ meeting they’re headed to go over. Yifan nods along, pulling an apologetic smile in an effort to placate his PA. “Did you even look through the notes I sent you last week, or do I have to cram that into your brain too?”

Yifan’s smile falters, and Kyungsoo makes the beginning motions to what Yifan can only think is to strangle him, and he hurriedly puts his hands up to defend himself. “I did, I did.”

Kyungsoo’s hands drop back down the report on his lap, but his eyes remain trained on Yifan’s tense form. “I sense a but in here.”

“...Well, I read it a while ago, so...I don’t _quite_ remember all of it,” Yifan says slowly, face scrunching up in a wince. Kyungsoo’s nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath and lets it out.

“I expect at least double my usual Christmas bonus this year,” he says tightly. “If not a small island.”

“I owe you at least a small country at this point,” Yifan says gratefully, nudging him in the shoulder. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and passes over the file report with a particularly hard thwap across Yifan’s thighs.

“Shut up and read. I need to do some meditative breathing.”

-

Yixing waits on the bus curb, going over the handwritten list Henry had passed over to him the night before. He chews on a finger while going over the numbers in his head, trying to gauge the best amount of ingredients to buy for the day. Yesterday was a bit of a freak occurrence, with the unexpected large party of people at the end, but it did also mean that they were forced to change up ingredients to meet the orders. Henry wants a double of everything for today’s menu, as a result, but Yixing’s just not sure whether today would get the same results for them to even require that double.

He’s a little put out, if he’s to be honest. Yixing’s not horrific with numbers—better than Lu Han when it comes to critical thinking, at least—but having to deal with the pain of knowing just how much to order to keep a restaurant running and not sinking in red is just so far above his paygrade. He’s a line cook, not a manager.

Yixing shakes away the thought, though. Dwelling on the negatives won’t help anyone in the long run, least of all him.

-

The taxi cab passes down the road without stop, steadily making its way to its destination. The transit bus pulls into the curb, just as the cab drives by on the left lane, and lets its passengers step on.

-

**two.**

“Hyuuuuung, come on, it’s almost 4 o’clock, you _promised_ you’d eat lunch with me!” Chanyeol whines extra hard, leaning over Yifan’s desk. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve last tasted food today? _5 AM_ , hyung, _5_. This is inhumane business practice, denying your workers food, I’m gonna sue!”

Yifan rubs at his temples, pounding headache already starting to build. “Why don’t you send in a formal complaint and I’ll have Minseok take a look at it for you?” he says dryly, looking up from the hand framing his forehead.

Chanyeol scowls a little and pushes away from the desk with a huff. He crosses his arms and marches himself to the couch in the corner of the office and flops noisily down onto the cushions with a harrumph. “I feel like you’re patronizing me and my legitimate grievance here, and I’ll have you know I won’t stand for it.”

Yifan grins, hides it under the palm of his hand, and continues screening through their company’s latest financial reports, penning in notes and circling areas that need to be checked over in finer detail later on. His stomach growls in agreeance, though, a stark contrast to his unsympathetic words, and Chanyeol shoots up from his seat with a triumphant laugh and extended index finger pointed at him.

“ _Aha!_ See, even your own body agrees with me!” Chanyeol crows, almost dancing in place. Yifan stares at him with deadpan eyes, silently judging the twenty-four year-old man for currently acting less than half his age.

“Chanyeol, I’m really busy at the moment, okay. I’m sorry I made you wait for lunch; go eat without me,” Yifan says after a minute, sighing and dropping his head into his hands. He massages his eyelids, pressing in the tips of his fingers into his sockets until his vision bleeds white, and sighs again when the pounding increases.

A pair of cool hands pull his fingers away, replacing them with cooler tips that gently work at his temples, rubbing in and alleviating the pain a little. Yifan opens his eyes reluctantly, and looks up at a leaned-over Chanyeol who’s delicately massaging his headache away. Chanyeol smiles at him, his expression now softened and of fond exasperation.

“You idiot, I’m not just whining so I can go eat. I’m worried about you too,” he says with a huff. “You’ve been in this office the whole day; I don’t even think you came out for a bathroom break.”

Yifan rolls his eyes. “Thank you for giving so much thought to my excretory system, Chanyeol. Hyung is so touched.” He doesn’t mention that he did actually stay in the office the entire day; no need to add fuel to Chanyeol’s fire.

“Don’t be an ass,” Chanyeol admonishes, fingers still gentle. “You can go back to the office after this—just eat a small meal with me. Please.” He stops then, and stares straight down at Yifan, eyes somber. “Eat something.”

Yifan opens his mouth to argue some more, maybe say something mean so Chanyeol will go away and leave him be, but his stomach growls for the second time and all the fight deflates out of his body. “Okay, you win, you brat,” he mutters.

-

“I need another three orders of _lu rou fan_ , one _niu rou mian_ , and a _ke za jian_ for the party of four, please,” shouts Jongdae, their newest hire, as he sticks his head under the flap dividing the kitchen and the front room. A chorus of acknowledgements come back from the bustling staff in the kitchen, and Jongdae shouts a thank you before heading back out.

“Yixing, Lu Han, three _lu rou_ , one _niu mian_!” Henry calls out, tacking the orders onto the line of waiting receipts. “Fei, another _oya jian_ please! Keep ‘em coming, guys. What’s the status on those _yu wan_ , Amber?”

“Next batch up in 5 seconds, man, hold your tits,” Amber replies, calmly ladling up fish balls and broth and passing them over on the dish counter to be checked off. “You need a xanax or something?”

“Shut up and gimme those bowls,” Henry says without batting an eye, and murmurs his thanks when all the dishes for the current order are placed in front of him. “Okay, Sehun, Jongin, next order, go, go, go!”

Yixing works calmly on his third pot of pork belly that night, stirring the contents on the stove with a deft hand. He spoons out big chunks of pork from the half-full pot on the burner behind it, already braised and ready to serve, onto three bowls of rice filled to the brim, layering on the braising liquid and a few sprigs of cilantro for color. He fishes out three soft-boiled eggs from a side pot, quickly slices them open, and arranges them on top of the pork, drizzling some more sauce on top, before bringing them to the counter one-by-one.

“ _Lu rou_ ready to go,” he says with a smile. Henry flashes him a big grin in return and whisks the bowls off the counter and onto Sehun’s waiting serving tray without fanfare.

“Where is my _mian_ , Lu Han,” Henry calls out, flipping through his orders. Lu Han bustles up with a neatly plated bowl of beef noodles with a huff.

“Amber’s right, you _do_ need a xanax,” he says, exasperated. Yixing giggles and pinches him in the stomach, ducking the swipe Lu Han takes at him when he yelps.

“Be careful about what you say, or I’ll have Yixing make _rou_ of _you_ ,” Henry says, wagging a finger at Lu Han and high-fiving Yixing across the counter. Lu Han sticks his tongue out at him, and then at Yixing, and goes back to his station.

“I have another order,” Jongdae says as he bursts back into the kitchen, and Yixing returns to his station too.

-

Yifan lets himself be dragged mercilessly down the bustling streets of the main road of Myeongdong, content to let Chanyeol steer him around.

“—believe that Kyungsoo just keeps letting Baekhyun get to him like this, man, this is the third time this week I’ve had to break them up before Kyungsoo actually tried to toss him out the window. And you know, we’re on the 14th floor,” Chanyeol says with a shake of his head. “One of these days, Baekhyun’s really gonna end up dying. I think we should ready our alibi, you know, draw up some contracts that release us from responsibility before Kyungsoo goes through with it.”

Yifan hums absentmindedly in response. “Just let them be, they’ll work it out by themselves.”

Chanyeol stops in his tracks, uncaring of the scowling couple that bumps unexpectedly into him, and stares at Yifan. “Hyung, Baekhyun’s gonna end up in a ditch somewhere, and Kyungsoo will probably have to go on the run for first-degree murder. You’re gonna be out of an assistant if you let them ‘work it out’.”

Yifan huffs a laugh. “Are you making a big deal because you’re actually worried about me, or are you just jealous because Kyungsoo’s been paying more attention to Baekhyun than you lately?”

“W-what, what are you talking about, hyung, don’t be silly,” Chanyeol sputters, laughing uncomfortably loud and pushing Yifan away hard enough that he almost stumbles into a group of schoolgirls walking beside them. Yifan just laughs again, holding up a hand in placation, and slings an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders and starts walking again.

“Alright, alright, no need to get so defensive,” he says easily, rubbing Chanyeol’s arm. “Now, where is it you wanted us to go eat, hm? I assume I’ll be paying again today?”

Chanyeol pouts, but leads on. “Of course not! What kind of friend would I be if I made you pay for eating out with me! You think so little of me, hyung, it hurts.” Yifan raises his eyebrows at him, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes in response.

“My bad, then. Please accept my apologies, oh Best Friend in the Entire World, let this Lowly One treat you to atone for my unholy sin,” Yifan deadpans. Chanyeol pushes him away with his elbow, but lets Yifan leave his arm still around his shoulder.

“I’m serious, though, okay, you need to remember to eat more often, hyung,” Chanyeol says suddenly, his earlier joking tone absent and frown in place. “You’re not young anymore—to be honest, your life is already half-over if you think about it. You should treat it with more respect.”

Yifan stays quiet, but he smiles to himself, ducking his head down to hide it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says in the end, sincerely. He lifts a hand and ruffles Chanyeol’s hair a little.

Chanyeol sticks his nose up in the air in exaggerated importance, but he grins a little too, bringing back the playful mood from before. “See that you do, hyung. Now, as a reward for listening to me, I’ll graciously let you get the check tonight.”

“...You little shit.”

-

Yixing takes his twenty minute dinner break in between a lull at the restaurant. Henry waves him away when he lets him know, and Lu Han pouts at him from the confines of his station, having taken his break an hour earlier. He exits out of the building through the backdoor, taking with him a take-out container of _ba wan_ that Amber had pushed into his hands with a no-nonsense order to “eat something, for god’s sake, or I’ll beat you with a frying pan” and a bottle of water.

He stays next to the back entrance, hunching down on an overturned crate and cracks open his bottle to take a nice long gulp. He sighs into the darkening sky when he swallows, staring up into the orange-blue sky with furrowed brows. Spring’s ripening bit by bit, trading its greener, sweeter breeze for a more encircling warmth; Yixing’s taken to wearing tanks and and boxers to bed these days. But the air is still cool enough right now for Yixing to decompress and sit in without feeling like he’s about to boil over.

He snaps open the plastic container and scoops up a dumpling with one of the wood sticks Amber thoughtfully left in with the food, and chews on it slowly, savoring the crunch of bamboo shoots and the give of minced pork and shitake under his teeth. Almost as good as the dumplings his grandfather used to make for them during the winter season.

There’s a screech of the backdoor being scraped open, and Yixing lifts up his head to see who it is.

“Ah! Yixing hyung! Are you on your dinner break?” asks Jongdae brightly, his face coming into sharp relief in the yellow glow of the overhead light. He has a similar plastic container in his hands, filled with two huge translucent dumplings, and he moves over to sit next to Yixing, dragging another stray crate over as his chair. “Man, it gets really busy here, doesn’t it?”

“Hm, sometimes,” Yixing agrees, chewing still. “I feel like we picked up a lot more traction since Henry hired you, actually.” He nudges Jongdae lightly in the ribs with his elbow, grinning. “I guess you’re our good luck charm, Kim Jongdae-ssi.”

Jongdae laughs it off and opens his own container, cradling it on his lap for a makeshift table. “Don’t be like that, hyung, you’re gonna make me blush.”

“But it’s true! Our new magnae is so handsome and well-spoken,” Yixing teases, watching as Jongdae gets pinker in the dim lights. “Of course we’d get more customers with such a cool manager to take care of them. He leaves all the girls’ hearts fluttering, doesn’t he?”

“Hyuuuuung, please,” Jongdae whines, laughing. Yixing backs off, chuckling, and eats his second dumpling. “I’m in a relationship anyway, they don’t stand a chance.”

Yixing raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in curiosity. “Oh?” He chews thoughtfully for a moment. “That must be nice, then.”

Jongdae smiles to himself, a privately fond grin, and shrugs, and Yixing politely averts his eyes. But Jongdae looks back up now, nudging Yixing in turn, his own bit of curiosity taking over. “What about you, hyung? Do you have anyone?”

Yixing blinks at the sudden question, frozen in mid-chew before he relaxes again and continues eating. He shrugs nonchalantly. “No. Free as the wind,” he replies simply. Jongdae frowns, and Yixing sneakily steals a dumpling out of his container.

“Don’t you want one, though? A relationship?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t really mind either way, honestly. I haven’t really actively looked for anyone, but I don’t particularly care?” He takes a big bite of his stolen dumpling before speaking again. “Things are fine the way they are.”

“...You’re so carefree, hyung, wow,” Jongdae says after a few seconds, amused.

“It gives me more time to watch my shows in peace,” Yixing says primly, just as Jongdae tries to scoop up a dumpling from his takeout and finds it already half empty.

“ _Aw, hyung!_ ”

\- 

They seat themselves as soon as one of groups huddling under the plastic covers leave, and Chanyeol orders them a huge plate of soondae and ddeokbokki to split, plus a couple sticks of odeng for them each. Yifan doesn’t say anything, but he levels Chanyeol with a succinct eyebrow as Chanyeol passes over two plastic cups and snaps open a bottle of soju.

“Okay, so this isn’t the _healthiest_ place to eat, I know, but I’ve been craving soondae since I got to work this morning. And besides, I mean, _I’m_ still young and spry in my twenties, so,” Chanyeol says sheepishly, pouring Yifan a shot before pouring himself one. He offers an exaggerated admonished smile, and Yifan rolls his eyes in response.

“Caring about my health, my ass,” Yifan mutters, downing the shot. “Plenty of places to eat indoors, and you pick the one that’ll lead me into an early heart attack.”

“Keep it down, hyung, do you want the ahjumma to spit in your food? Besides, you’re treating me tonight, so I get to pick what I wanna eat. We can eat somewhere else next time,” hisses Chanyeol, ribbing him with his bony elbow. Yifan grunts and loosens his tie before picking up his pair of chopsticks and going to town on the plate of soondae placed down in front of them.

“We’re eating something Chinese next time,” he says thickly, mouth full of blood sausage and clear noodles. Chanyeol snorts and nods in thanks to the ahjumma who hands over his carton of ddeokbokki.

“I’ll bring you to the place Jongdae just got hired at. I hear they do good Taiwanese-Cantonese fusion food,” he says offhandedly. “It’s actually just down that alley over there.” He stretches his arm behind him, near clipping a waiting customer in the face, and points to the dark alleyway a little left from under the covers of the pojangmacha.

“I’m holding you to that,” Yifan says and grabs for the soju bottle. “Pass over the ddeokbokki.”

-

Jongdae goes back in after only a few minutes, pouting over the loss of half his dinner. Yixing takes a last breath in the night air, the skies now completely black and illuminated by the city lights, and tosses away his trash before going back inside.

Break over.

\- 

**three.**

The subway station is a little crowded, filled with the last stretch of rush-hour people eager to head home. Yifan stays near the back, leaning against a pillar and trying to hold back a particularly large yawn from escaping.

If he had it his way, Yifan would be on the express train back to his place to catch up on a week’s worth of sleep. Unfortunately, Tao’s been raving about this photoshoot his company finally managed to scrape together with one of the premier photographers of South Korea, Lee Myungsoo, and demanded Yifan’s presence at the start for solidarity. It’s not particularly _hard_ , per se, for Yifan to say no to people, but Zitao just has one of those faces that Yifan loathes to deny anything.

He doesn’t mind, not really. It’s a big milestone for Tao’s start-up fashion line, something Yifan knew Tao had only dreamed of back when he’d just started out sketching ideas for his portfolio in college. He’s proud that Tao’s made it this far—he’s just, well, tired.

They’d been working on this grant application for the past two weeks now, trying to get everything in before the deadline, but the offices have been so uncooperative with his company, Yifan’s had to pull a couple of straight all-nighters this whole week just to get all the necessary details and make sure that the material they’re sending in meets the ridiculously vague requirements. Kyungsoo almost popped several blood vessels in the past two days alone, trying to deal with the most ambiguous and unhelpful office secretaries at the Ministry of Health and Welfare. Yifan thought he’d have to put him in a literal time-out until Kyungsoo could interact with normal human beings without verbal abuse.

It’s done, though, signed and sealed, and sent off with Baekhyun for delivery. All Yifan has to do now is just hold on for another three hours before he can finally sink into his soft mattress and become one with his bed at last.

He yawns aloud just as the Blue Line races into the station, and stops for the passengers to climb aboard.

-

The crush of people piling into the just-arrived subway train is a little disorienting, and Yixing does his best not to bump into or step on anybody, though it’s really impossible with the amount of people squeezing in. He manages to grab onto the coveted pole spot by the doors, and steadies himself with an exhale of relief as the train closes its doors and pulls out of the station.

Jongdae has taken to complaining about his boyfriend’s recent negotiations with a deal with a famous photographer of some sort for his fashion line during lulls at the restaurant with anybody willing to listen—so, basically the kitchen staff because they had nowhere else to run—and apparently has to sit through a three-hour long shoot for the sake of his boyfriend and their continued happiness. So, naturally, he invited (read: begged until they all caved in) his favorite hyungs and noonas to come join him to celebrate the auspicious event.

Amber and Fei had begged out, citing earlier plans, and Henry managed to talk his way out of going with a promise of a shift change, but Lu Han and Yixing were too late in escaping. Well, Lu Han, anyway; Yixing doesn’t actually mind. It’s not like he had any plans on his day off beyond sitting in his boxers and watching old reruns of Chinese variety shows on his dinky television.

So, here he is, on the Blue Line, squished between a particularly unhappy businessman and a trio of high school boys, blaring obnoxiously loud hip-hop through their clunky headphones. It shouldn’t be too bad of a ride though, just a little over fourteen minutes, and hopefully the crowd of people will stream out in between now and his stop enough for Yixing to have some breathing space.

He adjusts his stance as the subway rocks a little, pulling a sharp turn, and murmurs an apology to the businessman when he bumps into his shoulder. The man only frowns back and looks away.

Yixing blows out his breath and wishes wistfully for his headphones and mp3 player.

-

Yifan manages to snag a seat after the train stops in at Chungmuro and half the train cart files out, opening up the space inside for the remaining passengers. He squeezes into an end seat, next to a mother trying to placate her pair of squabbling children, and smiles politely at her before laying his head against the metal guard above the bench arm and closes his eyes.

It’ll be another ten minutes before he has to get off; he’ll just rest his eyes in the mean time.

A text goes off on his phone, and Yifan cracks open an eye and takes out his phone to check. It’s a cute kkt from Tao, complete with a selca of his pouting face and a string of crying emojis, reminding him to meet Tao at the studio before the shoot starts. Yifan snorts a little and sends back a quick affirmation and ETA about his current in-transit location, and closes his eyes again.

A few more minutes.

-

The train pulls in without problem at Gireum Station, and Yixing hops off with ease, his cart already half-emptied by now. He checks for a wifi signal, and shoots off a text to Jongdae and Lu Han about his arrival before heading for the exit.

The sun is in its last few minutes of glory by the time Yixing surfaces, and he squints up at the sinking sunset, half hidden by the slew of arching buildings. He smiles a little, and then pulls up the map Jongdae had sent him to get to the studio and starts walking.

-

Yifan’s phone vibrates several times in succession, but he stays asleep, dead to the world. The subway pulls into Danggogae, its last stop.

-

**four.**

Everything’s a little too much right now.

Yifan tries to focus his attention on Kyungsoo, who’s steadily rattling off their fiscal quarter’s numbers to him and discussing the possible next steps, but his words just slip away as easily as they flow into his ears, and he’s left staring blankly at the folder report Kyungsoo’s brandishing in front of him.

Minseok comes into the office with a stack of folders and drops them onto his desk with a sympathetic smile, and slips away as quietly as he’d entered, Kyungsoo’s speech uninterrupted. Yifan turns his head a little to stare at the stack of reports, lips pressed together tightly, as he visualizes the next five hours of having to go over each one of them in fine detail. The unpleasant feeling of his stomach churning has him pushing out of his seat abruptly, startling Kyungsoo into silence.

“Sorry. Bathroom break, can’t wait,” Yifan mumbles and hurries out of the office without giving Kyungsoo a chance to respond.

He doesn’t quite run out of the building, especially since CEOs are supposed to act with at least a modicum of professionalism and grace, but it’s a near thing. He exits the building with an undoubtedly frazzled expression and backs away from the glass doors, looking up at the stories with trepidation. He almost backs into someone, and whirls around to profusely apologize. The woman brushes away his apologies without a second glance and walks away into the building.

A walk might help. At the very least, he can decompress and breathe easier after a walk.

-

Sehun called in sick today—though it’s a slow day, so they’re not too backed-up by his absence. But they started up a lunch delivery recently, thanks to Henry’s desire for more patronage and Jongdae’s clever idea for a short-term promotion, and Jongin can only do so many orders on his own, with his dinky motorbike. They drew straws again, to decide who would get to leave the kitchen today.

Lu Han actually pulled the short one this time, but he pouted and begged until Yixing took his spot instead. It’s not too bad, though. Yixing gets a day out of the kitchen and Lu Han’s Playstation 3 out of this deal, so he’s pretty pleased, all things considered.

His first delivery is to a small boutique on Myeongdong 8-gil, and he borrows Amber’s bike to make the trip there, weaving through crowds of tourists and shoppers. The roads are especially crowded today, being a Saturday and a little after noon which means the optimal time for shopping, so it’s a little hard trying to get through and keep the food order steady on the back of his bike, but he makes it somehow.

He takes a look at the beauty shops stretching down the road when he comes out of the boutique, from the Nature Republic flagship to the Tony Moly and innisfree on either side, and is reminded of his mother’s birthday coming up in a month. Yixing assesses the hoards of people crowding around the entrance and spilling out of every shop entrances. Maybe another day, then.

His next delivery isn’t too far away, at the LGCNS building, and he gets there in another ten minutes with all the foot traffic, and he runs into the building with the food, eager to hand it over while it’s still fresh and warm. The receptionist smiles politely at him and lets him through with a cursory hand, and Yixing takes the elevator to the fifth floor.

He gets a text from Henry to come back for another delivery, and Yixing bows to the man who finishes paying him for his food and reminds him that he’ll be back within a few hours to pick up the dishes before heading back out.

-

He’s been out for at least fifteen minutes now. Way longer than what he’d probably like for Kyungsoo to think he’s doing in the bathroom, but Yifan’s still a little too on edge to really care at this point. He can suffer through the ribbing Chanyeol’ll probably put him through when he gets back. 

Yifan heaves a heavy sigh and trudges down the street. This isn’t the first time he’s felt overwhelmed at work, but it’s the first time he’s been so discomfitted that he had to physically leave the building in the middle of a meeting. At the very least, it wasn’t a board meeting, but this was nonetheless irresponsible and unprofessional of him. He feels the guilt just as heavily as he feels the clenching panic, deep in his gut and spreading through his lungs like wildfire, an indescribable suffocation with a vice grip on his trachea.

Burnout had been something his predecessor had warned him of before Yifan had taken over as CEO of their company. Yunho had been almost gaunt, the long hours of sitting in an enclosed space and trying to produce success out of numbers and sheer determination written in the lines on his face and the faltering smile as he’d clasped Yifan on the shoulder for the last time before taking his leave. They weren’t a big company, a middle-sized non-profit organization with a few fingers dipped into some heavy gold pots, but the weight of his title and the expectations of the faceless board members had felt no less real.

Yifan isn’t a leader, in any sense of the word. He thinks under pressure, rises to the occasion when it is necessitated and he is the only one capable, but he just isn’t _built_ to stand this long, holding up a company on his own two shoulders. He’d made that mistake in high school, trying to captain his team to victory, and had ended with a dashed dream and a lasting knee injury for his hubris. The amount of flattery and resolve to meet his board members’ expectations and prove himself worthy when they’d first elected him to position have long since given away to a bone-deep weariness and a pervasive desire to _sleep_.

His body turned out far more fragile than he’d imagined.

-

Yixing pulls up to the mid-sized Long Star building and parks his bike by the curb in between a heavy SUV and a silver Hyundai with a half-hearted prayer that it won’t get crushed in the five minutes he’ll be away for.

The receptionist directs him to the fourteenth floor, and he shares the ride up the elevator with a jittery man who almost bolts out of the cab when they arrive. Yixing follows behind at a more leisurely pace, carrying two bags of lunch boxes in either hand. There isn’t an actual reception desk on this floor, though, so he stays by the elevator, waiting for someone who looks hungry to come up to him.

A harried man with wide eyes steps out of one of the offices, head tilted toward him with a handset pressed to his ear, and waves Yixing over. Yixing gratefully walks over, avoiding a passing worker with a huge stack of paper crossing by, and holds out his bags with a questioning smile.

“Delivery for a Do Kyungsoo?” he says quietly for confirmation, and the man nods and gestures for him to set the bags down on his desk, clearing off the stray folders and packets about for Yixing. He holds up a finger and calls out into the open office space back outside, pressing the receiver of his handset to his chest.

“Chanyeol, can you come and pay the delivery guy for me? I’m on a call with our development director right now,” he says, and a dyed redhead pops his head out from one of the cubicles in the middle of the floor.

“Oh, hey, you got us lunch?” he replies back, leaving his cubicle and jogging over to where Kyungsoo and Yixing stand. Kyungsoo just waves his hand vaguely and goes back to his phone call, giving Yixing an apologetic nod of his head. Yixing just smiles and waits for Chanyeol to dig out his wallet. “What’s the damage today?”

“30 000 won,” Yixing says pleasantly, clasping his hands behind his back. Chanyeol whistles a little, and fishes out three ₩10 000 bills to pass over.

“Oh, is this the place Jongdae works at! Nice, I’ve been meaning to try their stuff,” Chanyeol says absentmindedly, shoving his wallet back into his pants. Kyungsoo hangs up just as he starts taking out the lunch boxes from the bags. “I wonder where Yifan hyung is, he’s missing out.”

“He said he had to go to the bathroom a while ago. I assumed he had bowel problems,” Kyungsoo says with a frown, and nods again in thanks to Yixing, who bows back and starts his way back to the elevator to leave.

“I just went like fifteen minutes ago; there was no one there. And none of the stink that usually comes with bad shit, you know what I mean?” he hears from Chanyeol before the elevator doors ding open and he steps in. “I’m worried."

-

He ended up in Namsan, milling with tourists and couples walking up and down the hill to the tower. Yifan picks a spot by the railing near the the lower cliffs, halfway up the hill, and sits on the bench in front of it, staring blankly out into the city.

It’s almost three in the afternoon now, long since the morning when he’d run out on Kyungsoo. His stomach whines a little, and he lays a hand flat across his belly in detached consolation.

The city stares back, unblinking.

-

**five.**

They book a special seating at Nian Gao, Chanyeol making good on his promise to bring Yifan to a Chinese place, and because Minseok _finally_ pops the question on Sooyeon, his girlfriend of three years, and she’d said yes. The restaurant is the one Chanyeol had pointed out to Yifan months ago, hidden away in one of the smaller alleyways of Myeongdong 3-gil, small and out of the ways from less adventurous tourists, but it’s intimate and bustling inside, perfect for their group.

Minseok and Sooyeon sit in the seats of honor tonight, laughing abashedly as Chanyeol and Baekhyun tease them from across the table, Kyungsoo in between them, occasionally slapping the back of both their heads when they get too invasive or lewd with their words. Their new interns, Jinri and Sunyoung, sit a little off to the side, still shy and hesitant to participate in the good-natured ribbing of Minseok’s new engagement, but Chanyeol does a good job of including them into the conversation, and even makes them laugh a few times when he stumbles over some of the Chinese words when reading off food orders to their waiter.

Yifan sits at the head of the table, closest to the kitchen doors, content to just watch his friends and colleagues sit and chatter in celebration of one of their oldest friend’s engagement. It’s a good night to go out, warm and pleasant with a full moon to light the way home; Minseok made a good decision in choosing tonight to propose.

He toys with his napkin, picking at the edges, while Chanyeol and Baekhyun whoop loudly, clapping for Minseok to kiss Sooyeon in public. Kyungsoo kicks Baekhyun down and pushes Chanyeol back in his seat, but he manages to steal a glance at Yifan beforehand, questioning. Yifan forces a smile back and shakes his head, not open to any interrogation.

He’s not up for anything high energy, but being with his little makeshift family is enough tonight.

-

Yixing opts to take the long way back home this time. He arrives at the Beijing Airport around 7 in the morning, sleep-rumpled and red-eyed like his namesake flight. He gets a quick latte at the airport Starbucks, loaded with an extra shot of espresso for good luck, and waits for the shuttle to Beijing West Station to start up its route.

It’ll be a good six hours or so before he hits Changsha, going by train, and his mother had berated him already for wasting the time he could’ve spent already safe and sound back in his grandparents’ home traveling through China, but Yixing stood his ground this time. It’s been years since he’s come back to China, much less Changsha. He wants to take the time to reacquaint himself again.

-

The food is delicious, both nostalgic and new to Yifan’s tastebuds. He’s been to Taiwan only twice, both for business purposes, and had kept to hotel food both times, so getting to finally eat its famed cuisine a few years later is a bit of a treat, even if it is in the middle of Seoul, Korea. But the _gan chao niu he_ and the communal serving bowl of _pi dan shou rou zhou_ are so familiar, he keeps thinking he’s back in Guangzhou again, eating with his family at a _chaa lau_ and blinking in surprise when he finds himself in a tiny restaurant amongst Koreans instead.

Their group noise level only gets louder as the night goes on, supplemented by the delicious food and alcohol flow. Chanyeol manages to get the restaurant manager, Jongdae, to come by and introduce himself finally, laughing in astonishment when Kyungsoo reveals that he and Jongdae had been classmates back in high school. Jongdae fits right in with Chanyeol and Baekhyun, easily trading barbs and joking with everyone around the table like he’s been part of their company for years and not just introduced a few moments ago. He congratulates Minseok and Sooyeon sincerely, and promises them a complimentary bottle of _baijiu_ to commemorate the occasion with a conspiratory wink.

Sooyeon asks to give her compliments to the chef, and Jongdae crows in delight.

“Lu Han hyung is gonna be so happy you said this, Sooyeon-ssi,” he says, eyes twinkling, hovering behind Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s chairs. “He’s head chef tonight ‘cause Henry hyung’s out sick and it’s Yixing hyung’s week off, and he’s been so anxious about messing up.”

Yifan clears his throat, speaking up at this. “No, he did a good job. It reminds me of home,” he says quietly, with a small smile. “You guys all did a really good job, please let them all know.”

Jongdae smiles back, ears a little pink. “Thank you, Yifan-ssi. I’ll be sure to let our staff know.”

Chanyeol chuckles a little, and nudges Jongdae lightly. “That’s high praise indeed from Yifan hyung, you know, you should be proud. And look at you, already talking like you’re one of them. You’re going native,” he teases. He turns to his table and stage whispers with a raise of his eyebrow. “He’s already got a cute Chinese nickname and everything. They call him Chen in the kitchen—isn’t that adorable?”

Jongdae laughs a little, embarrassed, and shoves Chanyeol’s head a little. “Shut up, you’re just jealous they like me more than your office likes you. And you’ve been working with them for like over two years now, so.”

“Hey! That’s not true, they love me! Right, Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol pouts, looking at a blank-faced Kyungsoo in askance.

“Who is this ‘they’ you’re talking about? And why are you asking me?” he deadpans, to the loud laughter around the table.

“That is _rude_ , Soo, see if I ever talk to you again.” Chanyeol wrinkles his nose and directs his puppy eyes at Yifan for support. “Hyung, you love me, right?”

Yifan smirks and lazily shrugs in response. “Hard to say, really.”

Jongdae cackles especially loud at Chanyeol’s betrayed expression.

-

He falls asleep on the train and misses on most of the scenery during his six-hour long ride, but Yixing’s not too bothered when he steps off the train and breathes in the Changsha air, the cloying thickness of its warmth wrapping around him in a homecoming embrace. He can enjoy it when he leaves.

His first stop is at a bus-stop rest because he hasn’t eaten anything in more than six hours. His second stop is to a _shen liao dian_ , where he picks up a bundle of joss sticks and joss money, and makes a quick walk over to the flower shop a few streets down for a bouquet of mixed calla lilies.

His grandfather’s site isn’t really that big, wedged along in one of the thousands of rows of tombs and headstones at the cemetery. It takes him a little bit to find it, hidden in plain sight along with all the other identical headstones, but he gets there in the end. He stands in front of the stone in silence for a moment, expressionless, before he breaks into a wistful smile and sets down the flowers.

“Hi, grandpa. I’m home,” he says softly.

-

**zero.**

When it rains, it pours. Monsoon season in Seoul is no fucking joke.

Yifan grimaces at his rain-soaked suit jacket in dismay. Not five minutes out of the cab and he’s already half-drenched from the heavy downpour. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about the state of his hair right now.

The streets of Myeongdong are still crowded, though, filled to the brim with eager shoppers and touristers despite the rain. Yifan looks enviously at the couples passing by, huddling under their wide umbrellas, and sighs, dragging a wet hand through his equally wet locks of hair. Waste of the hour he’d spent this morning styling his hair just so. His umbrella had been resting right next to the shoe rack too, but he’d been too busy rushing around to get dressed in time to pay attention to the meteorology report for the week.

He sighs heavily and shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched in a slouch, and meanders down one of the lesser crowded streets. Kyungsoo might have an apoplectic fit by the time he gets into the office, but the rain’s basically drained Yifan of any fighting spirit he’d managed to muster up this morning. He’ll just chance it today; he’s the boss anyway.

He sidesteps a couple of schoolgirls who walk past him, giggling into their hands and looking back over their shoulders at him, and pretends he doesn’t feel the eyes of the other bystanders judging him. The back of his neck heats up, regardless of his resolve, and Yifan hunches even further into himself, slightly picking up the pace to shake off the gazes on his figure. He’s wet and embarrassed and without an escape in sight.

His stomach chooses that moment to loudly proclaim its presence to the public with a startlingly loud gurgle. Yifan doesn’t pause in his steps, but it’s a near thing. He can’t hide the wince that swipes across his face fast enough, and he’s almost glad when his phone follows up the growl with a loud ring, distracting him from his embarrassment. He steps off to the side, under the minimal shelter of a large awning of a Starbucks, and wipes his hand futilely against his pants, which by now, are just as equally wet as the rest of him, and takes out his phone to check the caller id.

It’s Kyungsoo, already starting up the calls thirty minutes earlier than Yifan had guessed. He sighs a little, debates with himself about whether he should answer the call when it drops. Yifan raises an eyebrow, but tucks it back into the hidden pocket of his jacket, patting it safe. Well, that settles that, then.

Still, though. He squints out at the road ahead of him, and the heavy curtain of rainfall splattering down on the streets, and grimaces to himself. He can’t very well spend the rest of the day standing outside a Starbucks; Kyungsoo would literally eviscerate him. But, he also doesn’t want to spend anymore time in the horrendous downpour and end up miserable and waterlogged, even though he doesn’t really have a choice in the end.

His stomach growls again, and Yifan curls a hand around it, about to give in and make a run for it to the office. He exhales loudly, and calculates the differences in time if he takes the shortcuts through the alleyways or if he stays on the main roads; the alleyways seem like the faster option.

Yifan steels himself, does his best to block out the public’s surrounding presence, and starts running, pushing through groups of people and muttering quick apologies when he bumps into shoulders and backs. He splashes through the first few alleys, cutting sharp turns and near slipping on the smooth stone-paved roads with his smooth-soled oxfords, and takes a break near the archway of another street, catching his breath. He’s definitely going to have to hit the gym again later on.

He starts again, taking a slower pace as his breathing grows heavier, and his stomach growls again just as he passes a familiar-looking, hidden-away restaurant storefront. He stops again, bending over to physically try and catch his breath, breathing in large gulps of air, and flicks his hair back with a wet hand before looking at the storefront a little closer.

Nian Gao looks even smaller in the daylight—though, really, it’s hard to see _anything_ at all in this rain. But surprisingly, as Yifan squints through his wet lashes and the heavy rainfall, there’s a light on in the restaurant, even though the sign pasted on the front door indicates their opening two hours from now. He feels a little silly, grasping at the door handle and trying it, but he’s more desperate to get out of the rain, and—

It’s open.

-

Yixing’s in the middle of chopping through a few dozen carrots for tonight’s menu when the entrance door swings open with the familiar tinkle of the welcoming bell signalling the presence of another person. He looks up, eyes wide, slapping himself in the back of his mind for forgetting to relock the front door when he got in this morning, and finds a drenched businessman standing awkwardly by the entranceway, dripping on Henry’s favorite welcome mat.

“...Hello,” he says, setting his knife down, and leaning over the the serving window connecting the front room to the kitchen space so that the man can attach the disembodied voice to a face. “You look a little wet.”

The man coughs, expression discomfitted and apologetic, and bows his head. “Uh, hi. Do you—do you mind if I, uh, stand here for a little bit? I, well,” he raises his arms and gestures at his dripping clothes, “I could use a little drying.”

Yixing dimples a little and beckons him forward. “Not at all. I’ll even let you sit for a while.” He grabs a dish towel and wipes his hands clean before stepping out of the kitchen to fully greet the man. “I’ll find you a towel.”

The man’s stomach takes the time to growl loudly at that moment, before he has a chance to reply, and he winces before offering an apologetic grimace. Yixing grins a little wider.

“And maybe some food while we’re at it.”

-

Yifan finds himself seated at the bar counter ten minutes later, with a towel over his head and a towel on his seat to soak up the excess water, watching as the chef prepares him something through the kitchen window. He feels a touch out of place and a bit guilty for imposing when the restaurant clearly wasn’t open for business, but Yifan’s desire for both food and dry shelter makes him selfishly stay put.

He coughs again, and taps at the wooden counter with a fingertip. “Um, thank you for letting me stay here,” he says uncomfortably, staring hard at the grain instead of at the chef. “You really didn’t have to go this far.”

“Nonsense. What kind of person would I be to let someone stand out in the rain and go hungry? I’m not a monster,” the chef says good-naturedly. “I’m Yixing, by the way, Zhang Yixing. And you are?”

“Uh, Wu Yifan.”

“Oh, Chinese?” Yixing switches over to Mandarin with an excited grin. “It’s always such a pleasure to find another Chinese person in this neck of the woods.”

Yifan’s Mandarin’s rusted over the years, but the sounds of Yixing’s tones still flow as smoothly as they did when his mother used to speak to him over the phone, asking about his day and telling him to care of his health. He clears his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone else in this language. I’ve almost forgotten.”

Yixing chuckles, coming out of the kitchen and setting down a steaming bowl of noodles in front of Yifan. “Well, you never _really_ forget, you know. Like riding a bike.” He notices Yifan’s intent stare at the bowl and laughs again, pushing it towards him. “I hope you like beef noodles; they’re my specialty.”

“Thank you,” Yifan says gratefully, not bothering with pretending to decline for the sake of image, and pulls the bowl over until the steam fully hits him in his face, engulfing him in a warm cloud of beef stock and steamed bok choy. “It smells delicious.”

Yixing pulls out a pair of chopsticks from the one of the containers sitting on the counter and passes it over. “It tastes even better, I’m sure.”

\- 

Yixing lets Yifan be, content to just let him eat in peace. He goes back into the kitchen and picks up the knife at his cutting station and starts julienning his carrots again, getting into the methodical rhythm of the task. The chopping goes on for a little longer, with Yixing cutting thin matchsticks out of his peeled carrots. When he’s done, he grabs a bowl to set his prepped carrots in and let them soak in a vinegar brine while he grabs the basket of daikon from out of the pantry to prep. He grabs a peeler and an empty bin for scraps and starts rough peeling his daikon.

He notices Yifan from the kitchen window, watching him, and he smiles, catching Yifan’s eye instead.

“So, what’s the story with you being out in the rain today?” he asks with a quirk of his brow, quickly peeling the rough outer skin of a medium-sized daikon. “You too good for umbrellas?”

Yifan stares at him in mid-bite of a mouthful of noodles and blushes suddenly, a charming pink that spreads over his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. It’s surprisingly cute, given that he looks like a drenched street rat at the moment.

“I, uh—” Yifan tries to say before he chokes and starts coughing. Yixing huffs out in startled amusement, and sets down the root to go pass over napkins through the window while Yifan attempts to cough out his entire diaphragm.

“Maybe try swallowing before you talk next time,” Yixing says helpfully, filling a cup of water from the kitchen tap and handing it through the window onto the counter. “There’s no rush to answer, after all, it’s just my silly curiosity. Don’t feel pressured to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m, I’m good,” Yifan says when he gets his breath back, sitting back heavily in his bar seat. He’s still pink, red even, and Yixing doesn’t tell him how surprisingly endearing that is. He suspects it’ll only send Yifan into another coughing fit again. “I, uh, forgot my umbrella today. And yeah. Just got caught in the rain at the wrong time.”

“Really. ‘Cause you’re dressed like you’re going to at least a wedding, or something. You aren’t a runaway bride, right? Am I harboring a fugitive right now?” Yixing teases.

“Ahah, no, uh. No,” Yifan says lamely, laughing once and playing with the remaining noodles in his bowl.

“No?” Yixing says pleasantly, tilting his head at him. Yifan laughs again and meets Yixing’s eyes ruefully.

“I’m playing hooky from work, basically,” he confides, guilty grin across his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Yixing presses a solemn hand to his heart, face somber. “Your secret is safe with me.” Yifan’s lips twitch and he looks back down at his bowl of noodles.

-

He doesn’t really know what makes him say it. Maybe it’s the calm and teasing personality of Yixing’s, the comfortable air between them even though Yifan literally knows _nothing_ about him, the welcome distraction from having to think about work for once, but.

“I’ve been having a bit of trouble at work lately,” he says quietly, stirring his chopsticks in his noodle broth.

Yixing doesn’t bat an eye, just smiles encouragingly. “Going through a rough patch?”

Yifan smiles back weakly and nods a little.

“You wanna talk about it?” Yixing asks kindly, eyes crinkling, walking out of the kitchen and taking a seat beside him at the bar. Yifan shrugs, wordless. Yixing doesn’t prompt him for a verbal response, just watches him with a small dimpled smile and soft eyes.

“Do you ever—” Yifan blurts out, forcing the words that have been running through his mind since he started this job, years ago. He swallows thickly, cutting himself off for a moment before trucking on. “Do you ever just get the feeling like you keep doing something for the sake of doing it, but nothing ever comes out of it and everything just feels like you’ve wasted your whole time all along? Do you—do you know what I mean?”

Yixing’s quiet for a moment. “I feel like I’m getting an approximation of what you’re trying to say, but it’d help if you try to say it again, but differently,” he says with a touch of humor, quirking up the corner of his lips.

Yifan sighs, and shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s silly, I’m just—”

“No, it’s not,” Yixing cuts off suddenly, serious, and sitting up in his seat. “I’m sorry for joking earlier, I thought it would lighten the mood, but this is important to you, Yifan, so it’s not _silly_ or whatever else you were gonna say to dismiss it. Say it again; I won’t joke this time.”

“Um.” Yixing looks at him encouragingly, and Yifan lets out his breath before trying again. “I don’t know, I just, I feel like I’m stuck at the bottom of this hole, and there’s no actual way out. Like, I dug my way here, and now I’m just stuck.”

“Why do you feel like there’s no way out?” Yixing asks, furrowing his brows.

“I, well, I just can’t find any? I think I fooled myself into thinking that I could get through whatever funk I’d been in by just working harder and taking on more responsibilities, but in the end I just dug so much into this hole that I destroyed any possible exits left?” Yifan swallows again, discomfitted and at odds with himself.

Yixing hums in thought, frowning slightly as he processes. Yifan feels oddly vulnerable now, having parted with the deepest part of himself that he’d barely been able to reconcile with himself. He fidgets a little, skittering his fingers across the counter, eyes glued to the congealing noodle soup in front of him for a steadying presence.

“I think—and you don’t have to take anything I’m saying—but I think what you’ve been doing is placing all the responsibility on yourself, and not allowing yourself to do anything else but this, and not letting yourself rely on anyone else. It sounds like you’ve been so determined to prove yourself that you gave up your own emotional health to push yourself further.” Yixing hesitates. “Have you talked about this with anyone else? Maybe a friend? Family member? Girlfriend?”

Yifan coughs and jerks his head in a negative. “No one. No, uh, girlfriend either.”

Yixing’s expression quirks, an unreadable emotion in the crease of his eyes, before his somberness returns. “Well, I’m not a doctor or anything, as you can clearly see,” he gestures to his chef’s uniform and the kitchens with a sardonic hand, “but my advice at this point is to just stop focusing on this singular goal.” He reaches over, lays a warm hand over Yifan’s chest, right where his heart lurches a little, and knocks his knuckles against it. “You’ve been ignoring what your heart’s been telling you for so long; I think it’s time you started listening to it again, don’t you think? You’ve been working so hard, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a break and do something for yourself, haven’t you? Give yourself a break.”

“I—” Yifan stares down at the hand on his chest, Yixing’s fingers surprisingly small and dainty.

“I mean, obviously, this isn’t going to just go away with just one measly break,” Yixing hurries on, laughing self-consciously, taking back his hand and cradling it on his lap. “But, it’s a start, you know? It’s like that song that American singer says: ‘Give your heart a break, just give your heart a break,’” he sings suddenly, his voice light and clear, twirling a finger in the air for emphasis.

Yifan laughs at that, the heaviness pressing down on his chest suddenly gone. He can feel his gums peek out from his curled lips, but he’s a little more amazed that he’s smiling at all. He can’t remember the last time he’d smiled this widely or freely, without the necessity of politeness forcing the situation, in a long while.

It feels nice.

-

Yixing feels a little anxious, giving unsolicited advice like this, especially when he doesn’t really _know_ Yifan or his troubles. It’s hard to tell if he’s overstepping his bounds or not.

But, Yifan is laughing so openly, a far cry from the initial dour and exhausted-looking man he’d greeted an hour ago, so he must’ve said something right. He feels his own lips twitching, Yifan’s laughter latching onto his ribcage, infectious, and soon he’s laughing just as loudly as Yifan, the both of them bending over themselves in mirth.

Yifan’s the first to die down, huffing his breaths and visibly pulling himself back together. He surreptitiously wipes at his eyes for stray tears while Yixing tries to gather himself back up, still giggling in his fists.

“You know you just quoted a love song at me, right?” Yifan teases, pulling a small smirk. Yixing blinks in surprise, and laughs again, this time in a self-conscious breath, and scratches the back of his head cutely.

“Well, I wasn’t trying to be _that_ forward, I promise,” he says, dimpling. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Yifan’s phone takes the chance to ring at that moment, cutting the conversation.

Yifan looks apologetically at Yixing, but Yixing just shakes his head with a smile, gesturing for him to take his phone, while picking up Yifan’s half-eaten bowl and taking it back to the kitchen. He empties the contents into the garbage and sets the bowl and chopsticks down in the main sink, rolling up his sleeves, and turns on the running water.

There’s a hurried rush of conversation, Yifan’s low voice reassuring some unseen person that he’ll be at the office within half an hour, and Yixing has to hold himself back from turning around and peeking through the kitchen window to watch the conversation take place. He allows Yifan his privacy though, taking his time to thoroughly wash the bowl and chopsticks, and after placing the utensils and bowl back into their storage spots, he wipes down the sink with a warm dish towel.

Yifan clears his throat, a little hesitant, and Yixing turns around, expression pleasant. “I’m, uh, I’m so sorry about this, but my assistant is apparently threatening my existence and my, uh, livelihood if I don’t actually go back to work this instance, so.”

Yixing raises his brows in amusement, and leans against the window, pillowing his chin on his forearms. “Well, I wouldn’t want for you to live like a eunuch for the rest of your life. You better hurry back.”

“I’m, um, thank you. Thank you for listening to me talk; I don’t really know why I ended up talking to you about a problem so silly, but thank you. For letting me talk,” Yifan says haltingly, standing with his hands by his sides, fingers twitching. “And, um, for feeding me too. That was—that was really nice of you to do, thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll send you the bill in the mail,” Yixing jokes, holding back a snort when Yifan sputters a little. “I’m kidding, it’s on the house. And you remember what I said before? What’s important to you isn’t silly. Don’t dismiss it. I’m glad you talked about it with me—I’m glad you talked about it to someone at all.” Yixing shakes his index finger at Yifan, half-serious. “Don’t bottle up everything, Yifan. You’re not alone.”

Yifan smiles, a little embarrassed, but nods, setting down the towel he’d been clutching in his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbles, looking away. He makes his way to the entranceway of the restaurant, and hesitates.

“Feel free to come back whenever you wanna chat,” Yixing offers after a beat, watching Yifan shift weight from foot to foot. He hides a private smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Yifan blinks and nods once, lifting a hand up in a wave goodbye, before swinging open the door and stepping out.

-

The rain’s let up in the hour and a half that Yifan had spent inside Nian Gao with Yixing, and he tests the droplets with an outstretched hand before leaving the slight awning hanging over the entrance of the restaurant and into the open road of the alleyway. The slight shower should be manageable enough for Yifan to walk to work without getting too wet.

He thinks about Yixing’s words for a moment, turning his head to take a last look at the restaurant and the single light illuminating the interior, and he smiles to himself.

He starts walking.

**Author's Note:**

> written for [fanxingyou](http://fanxingyou.livejournal.com/), the fanxing exchange, as a pinch-hit. ao3 mirror to the [lj post](http://ventice.livejournal.com/6748.html).
> 
> this was an attempt at a five times + one style fic! i went through the fic with the intention of showing yixing and yifan as people leading subtly parallel lives in that they were both missing something while alone (their meeting is supposed to signify the spark of something new), but i wonder if that came through.
> 
> this fic feels a little bittersweet, to be honest, even though it was written like two months before krisgate2k14. :') anyway, thank you to [whit](http://minsuckit.tumblr.com/) and [jihye](http://papervoiced.tumblr.com/) for continuing to be the wind beneath my shaky wings. this fic was literally banged out in the span of four days, and the last night was particularly difficult for us all, hahaha. i'm sorry for always being such a procrastinator, but i really couldn't have asked for better betas or better friends. :')))
> 
> this was my first time doing a pinch-hit, and it was definitely quite the experience. (i immediately steamrolled my way into a second one two days after finishing this one LOL) i'm sorry i couldn't write like actual relationshippy stuff???? my brain is just stuck in preslash/g-rated territory.


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